


Panic Switch

by HurricanesatDawn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Genderbent!Jim, basically what happens why ty has the urge to write het!sex, but doesn't feel like switching fandoms/pairings, surprised!Sebastian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 03:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricanesatDawn/pseuds/HurricanesatDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty is a woman. This is a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my gorgeous tiger has fanarted for me
> 
> [here](http://thestealthyartist.tumblr.com/post/45273068365/mormor-as-requested-by-tyler-fanart-for-this)

Jim Moriarty is a woman.

To say that this has come as a surprise to discover would be an understatement of absolutely epic proportions. Everything about him—or rather, _her_ —had been designed around the immediate assumption that she was a male. There was no question about it, no doubt, no uncertainty. There was never even a time when he had actually been unaware of what gender his boss was.

His boss is supposed to be a man. Not that being female was necessarily a bad thing. But it was still an absolute shock to find out, especially in the way that he does.

The problem was more that Sebastian had started to fall for his boss as Jim the man. As Jim the man who is a criminal and to whom Sebastian gives his absolute and utmost dedication, respect, and subservience. As much as he could possibly be subservient to any living being, he is to Jim; because Jim demands that of him, and he finds himself unable to give anything less than everything he can.

Which, quite obviously, has led to something more distinctly personal. Being prone to getting too attached to people and things isn’t something that Sebastian has ever been accused of in the whole of his life. If anything, it would be a lack of attachment, a lack of personal feelings when it comes down to it. Being self centered instead, because it’s safer that way. You’re in more control that way, when you’re only thinking of yourself.

But when you meet a man who is so perfectly your type and so perfectly not your type in every way imaginable, all the things you didn’t realise you wanted, and all the ones you did at the same time, and he demands your respect and a certain level of submission that you find you’re more than happy to give, it’s not terribly surprising that it ends in being absolutely in love.

Sebastian isn’t gay. Not really. He’s been with plenty of men and plenty of women, enough to know that when it comes down to it, sex isn’t better with one particular gender, it’s better with specific types of people. A woman with tricks up her sleeves can be better than a man who bends over the countertop without even an ounce of forceful foreplay; just as a man who angles his cock just right when he’s driving into you is better than a woman who just lays there.

But in the two years he had been working for Jim, it has been exclusively men that he's brought into his bed. Maybe a part of that is desperately seeking to pretend that they are Jim, that Jim is fucking him, Jim is holding him down, Jim is allowing Sebastian to open up his body and split him in two—and in hindsight, a great deal of it probably is just that.

It makes sense. After he met Jim, he wanted men. He wants Jim, but men will do.

But Jim isn’t a man. Jim isn’t even Jim.

He finds that out quite suddenly, after a flurry of events that will forever be ingrained in his mind, on a Saturday evening after an entire day of sitting on a rooftop, followed by a scuffle.

When he’d walked back into the flat, tired, cold, frustrated, and incredibly hungry, Jim hadn’t even really been on his mind. He had been peripherally, of course, because there is barely a time anymore when Jim isn’t hanging out somewhere in the very dark recesses of his brain.  
  
But he’d been more interested in other things, in things he could actually have. Like shower and food and a beer and cleaning his gun before either collapsing into bed—unlikely—or leaving as quickly as possible to avoid seeing Jim, to find a tight hole into which he could fuck his frustrations.

Things didn’t exactly work out that way; and that was mostly because Jim is already home, is already stretched out on the sofa with a book in one hand, and a glass of his favourite whiskey in his other. To further the sight, Jim isn’t wearing a jacket, only has a partially undone white button-up on, and a pair of loose fitted jeans—that look suspiciously like the pair that had gone missing from Sebastian’s hamper sometime last week.

He tries not to look. He really does. But behind Jim is the fire going, and his hair is loose and damp on the top of his head, completely gel free, and he actually looks comfortable and somehow slightly pleased.

His boss doesn’t look up or even acknowledge his presence, and that’s why he grunts his hello out, along with an _“evening, boss,”_ before he tries to disappear down the hallway, in the direction of his room.

But before he can get two steps out of the room, he hears a, _“hello, darling”_ and that’s as good a sign as any that Jim intends to notice him tonight. He backtracks, dropping the bag lightly down on the ground, before turning to look at Jim again.

“...Boss,” he offers tentatively, thinking about the way the sweat dried on the back of his neck, and how badly he must smell, and how much he wants to shower. “Did you need something from me, sir?”

Jim’s lips seem to move up to look at him first, as ridiculous as that may seem, but then his eyes follow suit, and he’s under the full force of a Jim Moriarty stare. It should probably be more unnerving than it is, but by now, it only sets a tingle down his arms. He shifts on his feet.

“Well, that depends,” and Sebastian swallows, hoping beyond all hope that whatever it is that Jim wants from him, it doesn’t involve actually leaving the flat again tonight. He tries to look eager anyway. “You look ever so impatient to leave,” he continues, after a pause that Sebastian only recognises belatedly. “Is being in my presence really that unpleasant for you, dear?”

He blinks, and Jim looks like he’s pouting, but despite how fake it looks, he feels bad about it. “No, no, sir. I’m just- It’s been a long day, sir, and I wanted a shower.”

“And then?”

His frown betrays how confused he feels. “...and then I was planning to get something to eat?” It comes out suspiciously like he’s unsure if he’s even allowed to eat at this point.

“Ah, of course.” Jim nods sharply once to himself, as if that answers everything. “After that?”

“Uh-” he shifts again under Jim’s eyes, and now he’s starting to feel more of the effects of it, as he lets his own gaze slip away, lifting an awkward hand to his neck to rub at it. “A beer? and cleaning my gun?”

He can still feel Jim’s smirk, even if he’s not looking directly at it.

“Followed by what?”

“Was gonna...” should he even tell Jim he was planning to leave, is the question, and he’s not quiet sure now. If he does, then Jim might punish him by making him stay. But if he doesn’t, then Jim might punish him for lying. “I was, uh, going to go out for a while? Unless you needed me, of course,” he adds in a slight rush. “I only meant if you didn’t have anything more for me to do.”

His eyes flicker back quickly to Jim’s face, gauging his reaction.

“And if I did?”

A breath rushes from Sebastian’s lips, deflating slightly, and he knows he’s caught out and unable to do anything. “Then I would-” he quickly corrects himself, “I will stay home and take care of whatever you would like. Sir.”

A part of him wants to fight it, and make a big deal out of it, and he’d probably even win, at least in the short term. But it wouldn’t pay out well in the future, and he knows that from previous experience. He stares down at the floor instead, willing himself not to get angry, and not to betray himself by getting hard under Jim’s watchful eyes.

“Aww,” Jim seems to click his teeth together in his amusement. “You’re such a good boy tonight. Not a single trace of genuine desire to refuse me.”

His jaw slides together as his teeth grind down onto each other, frustrated, and then he looks up again. Into the amused sparkling of Jim’s eyes. He can’t be sure what that means, exactly.

“I apologise if I’ve ever given you cause to believe that I’m anything less than a good employee, sir?” again, a question, and a bad one at that.

“Don’t get carried away.” Unfortunately, Jim doesn’t seem in the mood to clarify, and before Sebastian can figure out what’s going on, he’s setting his book down, still holding the glass; and he snaps his fingers, pointing to the floor. “Come here, darling,” he orders Sebastian, and Sebastian only hesitates for a second before he obeys.

He walks slowly over, unsure of himself, until he’s towering over Jim’s more or less supine body. “Sir?”

“Closer,” is the next order. “And down to your knees on the ground.”

The word ‘knees’ sets his blood racing, as if he’s a trained dog, and he can feel the blood moving in the direction of his cock. He curses himself for that, because if he even lets himself think for a second that Jim is wanting something sexual from him, then he’ll be disappointed.

He could take it anyway, of course, but he’d have to kill Jim after; and killing Jim would be painful and might end up losing him his own life on top of that.

His knees hit the ground with a soft thud, padded by the black shag rug, and he stares up through his eyelashes at Jim. It’s only fair, after all.

A thoughtful hum trickles in the direction of his ears, as Jim reaches out with his free hand to grasp at Sebastian’s chin. The touch feels disconcertingly intimate, and he breathes in through his nose to compensate.

Unfortunately, that gives him a whiff of Jim’s wrist, which is apparently perfumed in some sort today. It’s not unusual, per se, for Jim to be wearing some sort of scent, but generally there’s a deeper reason behind it, including him going out to seduce the secrets out of some unfortunate sod. He can’t quite tell what the smell is, but it’s divine, and his eyes darken as he catches it, and his cock presses against the zip of his trousers.

God, what he wouldn’t do to have that scent surrounding and engulfing him as he’s fucked down into something.

He damn near shivers at the idea and has to shake himself from the fantasy before it actually becomes one, and before Jim notices. Though he probably already has; and Sebastian would bet his life savings and his favourite gun that Jim has known about Sebastian’s attraction—and his feelings—for longer than he himself has known.

The fingers tickle at the traces of scruff he has there, and he releases a large puff of air he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Sir?” his voice is gruff, but he has to figure out what this is before he embarrasses himself more deeply than he already has.

“Do you love me, Sebastian?” his eyes are on Jim’s lips first, as he forms the words, and then up to his eyes. He’s not surprised by the question, but it makes his heart thud.

“Yes, sir,” he confesses, closing his own eyes and bracing himself for whatever punishment will come. “I do.”

But the slap doesn’t come, neither in sound of in feeling it, and instead the touch gentles. Instead, a thumb traces the curve of his lips; instead, a _“good boy”_ is purred. “I always knew you were a faithful cub.”

The _"sir?”_ slips from his lips just a fraction of a second before his eyes open again, and he gets to be the one staring. “I-”

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” Jim continues, his voice turning coddling, thumb moving up to press down in between Sebastian’s lips. He has no choice but to let them part, to let Jim’s digit continue pressing forward until it’s against his teeth. He can barely breathe.

A thousand possibilities flicker through his mind.

“You’re not in trouble, tiger. I just wanted to hear you say it.”

He’d speak, but he can’t, because that would mean losing Jim’s thumb in his mouth, and he desperately wants to cling to this little tiny offering for as long as he possibly can. Yes, it makes him stupid and foolish and desperate, but he doesn’t care. A little bit of Jim is better than no Jim at all.

Without thinking, his lips close down around the flesh in his mouth, but he doesn’t suck, just holding it there, letting it put a small amount of pressure on him, while he stares wide-eyed, waiting for the catch.

“Do you desire me?” is the next question, and the answer is an obvious one. He nods, just enough to get his point across, without shaking his mouth too much.

“How much?” Jim’s eyes are dark and they don’t betray what he’s thinking for a single, aching second. “How much do you want me, darling? And I want you to use your words.”

“I want-” it catches in his throat, and he can feel the thumb slipping away, and he goes a bit cross eyed trying to watch its departure, but he can’t put it—himself, by extension—first. “I want you a great deal, sir,” he exhales, shuddering. It doesn’t feel good to say it out loud. It feels horrible and childish and like he should know better than to have any sort of feelings—sexual or romantic—towards his boss.

But still, he’s given no quarter. “Elaborate.”

“Sir?”

“Tell me what you want.”

_No,_ he wants to say. _Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me make myself stupid like this. You already know. Do you have to humiliate me even more?_ But instead, he falls back further, not daring to let his eyes slip.

“I want anything and everything you’re willing to give me, sir. And not- not a single bit more than that.”

He doesn’t feel the slap at all, but he can see it coming, and see it leaving when it’s done. It doesn’t seem capable of computing.

“Sorry, sir,” he says anyway, knowing a warning when he sees one. “I-” he ducks his head slightly, still trying to look, but through a veil of bangs. “I want you. I want ev-everything you are.”

He feels stupid for stuttering, but by now, it’s an undeniable fact that he’s an idiot.

“No, no,” he blinks at Jim. “Want do you want _right now?”_

_Oh._

His cock throbs in his trousers, and he’d almost forgotten about it, only really reminded now as it leaks against the inside of his thigh, a tiny drop of precome smearing his skin.

_I want to hold you down and fuck you until you cry out my name over and over, sir._

_I want you to yell at me and degrade me and bend me over the table and drive your cock into me until it hurts and I can’t speak, sir._

_I want you to make me beg for a taste of your cock, sir._

_I want you to let me bury my face in your groin, so you can fuck my throat until my voice has cracked and I can’t speak and I’m gagging around you, sir._

_I want to see your lips stretched around me, sliding down my cock as far as you can go without choking, and then farther, sir._

“I wanna suck you,” he says, and he has to lick his lips, because they’re cracked, and he’s trying to imagine what Jim’s cock will—would—feel like in his mouth. What his come would— _will_ —taste like when he finally falls over the edge. He adds, “Sir”.

“Suck me?” One of Jim’s delightfully plucked eyebrows is arched in mocking. “Why, darling. What is it of mine that you want to suck?”

Before Sebastian can answer, the thumb comes back, pressing insistently into his mouth. “Do you want to suck my thumb?” it jabs at his tongue, and he wraps instinctively around it, almost whimpering. “Then suck it. Suck on my thumb, Moran. Go on, you can do it.”

He does, he draws it as deeply as he can, tasting everything he can, swallowing around it, licking it. It tastes good, like whiskey, like Jim, like everything he can’t imagine and more.

But then it’s gone, and there’s a trail of saliva leading from his mouth. “Or my lips?” Jim continues. “Do you want to suck my lips, is that it?” He’s leaning forward now, not even realising that his body has tilted, and Jim is leaning down, and then there’s a mouth on his, claiming his.

He does moan now, deep and unrestrained, begging without words as his eyes close tightly shut, and he lets himself fall into the pattern of Jim’s lips. They’re soft and hard at the same time, angry and pleasant, and wet flesh wiggles at his mouth to get inside.

“Do you want to suck my tongue?” is muffled against him. “Then suck on it.” He does. He lets it fill his mouth, closing his lips around it, wrapping his own tongue around it as he tastes Jim.

Jim tastes like strongly of whiskey and faintly of salmon, and cigarettes, and somewhere in there is a hint of mint. He tastes like warmth and feeling and burning fire, and without thinking about it, Sebastian lifts his hands up to grip at Jim’s shoulders, holding him in place as he sucks unreservedly at the man’s tongue.

But he pulls away again. But there’s another slap, another that he can’t feel, and he’s left hanging with his mouth open, with the taste of Jim still present in his mouth.

Jim looks satisfied as he wipes his lips with the back of his hand, smirking cruelly down at Sebastian; and all Sebastian can think is that this was worth it. Whatever comes next, it’ll have been worth it for a taste of Jim’s mouth.

He falls back onto his knees, arms down on his sides again, trying to savour the last of Jim before it disappears down his throat. He’ll be dismissed in a moment, he’s sure. Jim will send him back to his room, and he’ll go, and he’ll lock the door and his trousers will be down to his ankles within seconds. He’ll come to the lingering taste of Jim, and it will be the best orgasm he’ll have had in awhile.

He’s sure of it.

“What do you want, my little tiger cub?” Jim purrs, and his head is spinning from the fact that he’s still here, and Jim hasn’t hit him again, and whatever filter he should have isn’t there anymore.

“You,” he gasps, gripped again by a hand he hadn’t seen coming, his chin tilted up. “I want you. To taste you. To feel you in my mouth.”

“To suck on me?” it doesn’t sound like a question, but it is.

“Yeah,” his eyes flutter, but they stay open. “To suck on you.”

“Where?” and the worst part, perhaps, is how wholly unaffected Jim sounds right now. He would give his right arm to have Jim want him just as bad, and when he glances down to see, there isn’t any sort of visibly bulge in the man’s trousers. He doesn’t seem to care at all, and that hurts him, breaks his heart a tiny bit, and makes him long for the man all the more.

“Your cock,” he says it anyway, because maybe even just seeing it will be enough to tide him over. Over to what, he doesn’t know.

“Mmm,” there’s a distinct humming sound, and his chin is gripped tighter. “That does sound nice, doesn’t it, dear?”

“Please,” slips out unbidden, and if he’s already in this deep, he might as well keep going. “Please let me, sir.”

“All right.”

His eyes had drooped dejectedly, and now they flash open far too wide, staring incredulously. It shakes him about halfway out of his shocked stupor, not sure if he’s heard right, and he tries to lean forward anyway, but the hand stops him.

“Tsk, tsk, not so impatient.” He sinks back, waiting for the order, whether to go for it or to leave entirely. “You have to earn it, Sebastian.”

“How?” he licks his lips, eager, wanting this, wanting to earn it. “How can I earn it, sir?”

“Start by closing your eyes.”

The last thing he sees is the sight of the glass being put on the floor, and Jim’s body moving to change position, and then he shields himself in the black of his eyelids, as obedient as Jim wants him to be. His heart races and his blood feels too hot in his veins, wanting this more than he’s probably ever wanted anything before in his life.

“Sir?”

“Good boy,” and he’s not sure, but it feels like Jim is sitting directly opposite him now, the feeling of his sock-clad feet bumping ever so lightly against his knees as they move to brace around him. He finds he likes that, and he tries to remind himself to breathe. If this is going to happen, then he needs to enjoy it, not spoil it in his excitement. “And whatever happens, you have to keep your eyes closed. Do you understand?”

He nods.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, sir. I- I understand.”

“Good boy.” He hears a zip being pulled down, and his breath catches once again. Fabric shuffles, moved out of the way, and he can almost taste Jim again already. It’s almost as if Jim is taking his trousers off entirely by how he moves, how long it takes him to be ready, but as his head spins, he feels legs moving onto his shoulders, and heels tugging him closer to the sofa.

He moves with them, careful not to fall too far forward yet. A hand comes down in his hair, tangling in it, and only then does Jim speak again. “Nothing matters but sucking me, Sebastian,” his words are soft, almost wary, but he suspects that’s more a lack of interest. “Just suck me. I’ll guide you.”

Sure enough, the hand tugs his head closer, the ankles circle around the back of his head, and he’s going forward, until he’s within range that he can actually smell Jim fully again. His perfume, his sweat, his natural scent, all of it, and then his shirt for just a brief second before he’s being moved down.

His mouth is wet and he opens it, ready to be pulled down onto a hard—or soft—length of cock.

But it’s not there; and he doesn’t understand.

There is no length of flesh past the pubic hair—that sticks to his nose, tickling the inside of his nostrils as he’s tugged down past it—and it doesn’t make any sense at all.

Foolishly, he almost opens his eyes, and it’s only the hand on his head that stops him.

“Suck me,” is demanded of him again, the order gruffer, more resolute, and then he’s being pressed directly against soft folds.

_Oh._

They’re wet and warm and they smell intoxicatingly like Jim and it’s actually horrifying, head and world spinning out of control, because this doesn’t make any sense at all, but they taste like Jim and he moans instinctively. It’s good. He’s supposed to suck. It’s all right, Jim isn’t fucking with him.

Or is he?

He doesn’t care.

His tongue flicks out, tracing the edges of the cunt that is apparently Jim’s, feeling the fluid leak out onto him, feeling like it’s burning through, and the only noise he can make is a needy whimper.

The moment the sound comes up from his throat, he’s being pulled ever closer, trapped by Jim’s feet, holding his head so tightly in place that it would take serious work to get out; but the best part is the moan above him.

There aren’t any words, but the hand strokes his hair encouragingly, and that’s all the sign that he needs to continue.

He can only lap at them, tonguing around the labia, trying desperately to remember how to do this. It’s been so long since he’s been near a cunt, since he’s done this, eaten someone out, and he can barely remember how it works.

But it’s so good. It’s so Jim, and he’s so incredibly hungry for it. His tongue wriggles forward, swirling, tasting the signs of Jim’s arousal, and swallowing them down.

_Yes. Please. You._

He doesn’t have the benefit of his hands, but that’s okay, because even if he did, he’s pressed too tightly inside to get them in there with him, so he makes do, trying to move Jim’s cunt apart enough to burrow himself deeper inside, licking every tiny spot of the inner walls that he possibly can, drenching them in a mix of the liquid of his body, and Sebastian’s saliva.

If he makes another sound, it’s a desperate groan, face bumping forward, drawing out an echoed moan above him as his tongue flicks over the top part of the clit, and the muscles of Jim’s thighs tighten around him.

He’s almost suffocating in here, but it’s a sweet, delicious death, and he has no desire in the world to escape now.

Every stroke of his tongue seeks to get more of Jim. In and around, over, deeper, then shallow, fucking inside, hardening the muscle as much as he can to replicate what he suddenly wants to do with his cock, and then back to sweeping over the top again. He’s never had a cunt like this before. One so warm, so perfect, so inviting; one he never wants to stop licking, ever, that he could go on eating until his entire face is numb and wet and he’s too tired to continue.

_Please._

Maybe it’s Jim. Maybe it’s him. But he wants this. He sucks, pulling, scraping his teeth lightly, learning what makes Jim moan, what makes Jim pull him tighter, and then repeating it over and over, and then finding new ways, new spots, new things to make Jim fall apart above him. It’s a beautiful, perfect gift, to be able to do this, and he’s wet all over his face, but he doesn’t care. This is the best part. The best thing.

His hands come up finally, unhindered, to cup at the back of Jim’s thighs, and they’re smooth and soft under the pads of his fingers, perfect for holding onto as Jim shudders around him. He must be coming, that’s the only thing Sebastian can imagine, body clenching and shaking, his hair being gripped tighter, but he’s not being let go.

_“Keep going,”_ is the order, and he shakes, too, feeling dizzied and lost as he tries to keep up with Jim’s body. All he can do is to hump up against nothing but air, seeking friction that’s not there for his throbbing cock, but it’s not as important as Jim, no matter how tired he is.

“Keep- keep- _Sebastian-”_ maybe Jim is falling apart above him—he hopes Jim is falling apart above him—and he pants, trying to breathe, trying to get more of Jim, because this might be the only time he gets to do this. It doesn’t make sense, but he needs this.

His head is spinning and he’s prying Jim’s legs farther apart, to give himself just that little bit of extra room to get closer, to get deeper, to give himself more leverage for getting as much out of this as he possibly can, and it’s not until Jim comes again—so hard that for a moment, Sebastian thought he might die like this—that he begins to let up, slowly down the pressure of his tongue. He’s tired, but he doesn’t want to stop, wants to keep doing this until he physically can’t anymore, but Jim makes what he wants known when he starts to pull back as well.

He still doesn’t open his eyes, and he can only breathe through his mouth, quick pants for air, mouth dripping, still nuzzling slightly against Jim.

Maybe he doesn’t want to know whatever this is, but he’s too out of his mind to really care. He won’t look until Jim lets him, and that’s all that matters.

“Good boy,” Jim’s crooning voice sounds above the buzz, and a palm peels back the bangs sticking to his forehead. “You’re such a good boy for me. Taking everything I give you.”

“Always,” he slurs back, his tongue heavy in his mouth, too wet and swollen to be any proper use immediately. “Please, Jim. Please.”

“What do you want?” a finger curls across his lips, smearing the sticky mix of fluid, pushing it deeper into his mouth and onto his tongue, and he can only suck the finger in and accept it, licking it clean.

“Mmfgh,” he moans around the pressure, until it recedes and he can pant out words again. “Want- want to see. Let me look at you, sir.”

“No, no, you don’t get to, pet,” is the laughter filled reply, volume high. “Don’t even think about opening your eyes, darling. That is, if you have any desire to get off anytime soon.”

He’s half expecting another slap, and he doesn’t care at this point. The reminder seems to make his cock throb harder, heavy and painful inside the line of his trousers and pants. Right now, if Jim were to just touch him down there, he’d probably shoot off immediately.

_“Please,”_ his mouth hangs open as the finger comes back, prying his lips apart so that they’re stuck open in an _‘O’_ shape, skin tracing along the shape. For one fleeting, disorienting second, he thinks that there’s going to be a cock now, placed between his lips, a heavy weight on his tongue.

But it isn’t there, and it doesn’t come, and he doesn’t even know what he wants anymore. Something. Whatever Jim will give him.

“Touch yourself.”

He reacts to the order without thinking, not having even noticed the heavy weight of his arms hanging down by his sides, hands scrambling blindly at the buckle of his belt to get into them. When he finally gets the button out and the zipper down, prying the sweaty fabric away, it’s a complete and utter breath of relief. It’s like being released from some sort of prison, and he can’t get his hand around his cock quick enough, wrapping his fingers around the base to pump up and down.

“Slower, darling,” Jim murmurs above him, and he stifles a whimper as he tries to listen, tries to quiet his pace. “Slower for me. Enjoy it.”

As if there’s any possible way that he could get off and not enjoy himself at this point.

There are more fingers pressing at his lips, working their way into his mouth, past his teeth, over his tongue, and they seem to be exploring him, testing him. He wants to suck on them, but he’s not sure if he’s allowed, and all he can do is close his lips around them, letting them bury themselves wherever they want.

They don’t choke him, which is good. They make no attempts to make him gag, or hurt him, and they’re almost gentle as they stroke across every bit of the inside of his mouth. It’s erotic, in its own little way, and he lets himself focus on that. Lets himself focus on the feeling of Jim in his mouth as he toys with the crown of his cock, spreading the precome he’s been steadily leaking since this all started across it, smoothing out the feel of jerking himself with the liquid.

He could come right now, right this instant, he knows he could; and the only thing that’s stopping him is that he hasn’t been told to yet. Which would be ridiculous on any other day. Insane, even; but today there isn’t anything natural about the idea of coming while Jim is still denying him it, and he tries to drag it out as long as he can. He really does.

He squeezes at the base, trying to stave it off, just as Jim moves again on the sofa. His fingers are still in his mouth, but feet slide down to bracket in his knees, and there’s another hand, on the back of his neck, playing with the hair there. The fingers finally slip from his mouth, dragging saliva with them, and he gasps for air, feeling it drip down his chin, but not caring.

It isn’t possible to care, because there are lips on his cheek, traveling towards his ear. They don’t kiss him, only seeming to drag themselves across his skin, until they finally come to a stop.

Jim moans in his ear. It’s a soft, low sound, and maybe it’s his actual pleasure at seeing Sebastian like this, and maybe it’s just to make it harder for Sebastian to keep from losing control. But it doesn’t matter.

“Come for me, tiger,” a kiss, a wet press of lips to the dip of his ear. _“Come.”_

He does, silently, with a full body shudder, too breathless to even make a sound.

Fluid spills out on and across his hand, probably getting on the sofa, on the floor, on his trousers and on his shirt, but none of that matters as he pumps his way through oversensitivity, still shivering at the feeling of Jim’s hot breath tickling his ear. At the hand on him, holding him back from falling down or over.

The first sound he makes is when it’s over, when his body has stopped shaking, when there’s nothing left to leak out from his cock. “Please,” he begs again, nonsensically, mouth tilted up desperately. _“Please.”_

It’s a soft, chaste kiss, and then it’s gone, and he’s left to collapse into himself.

The hand leaves him. The lips leave him. The feet at his legs leave him.

“You may open your eyes now, tiger,” and when he does, when he can actually see past the blur that’s there at first, Jim is wiggling himself back into his jeans. He falls back, staring, too late to actually see anything, too late to gain understanding, and he almost knocks over the glass of whisky in his clumsiness.

Jim smoothes the hair back over his head, his chest moving heavily as he breathes, and then he directs his eyes to Sebastian.

“Well?” he asks, and it sounds like scorn. “Go shower. You wanted one, didn’t you? And then for god’s sake, clean up that awful mess you’ve made. I’m not your maid.”


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn’t freak out as he stands up, dirty cock hanging now flaccid from the opening of his trousers, face still feeling wet and soiled. He doesn’t freak out as he stumbles down the hallway, ducking his head to stop looking at Jim.

He freaks out only after he’s made it into the little stall that makes up his personal shower, once he’s stripped blindly out of his clothes, and is under the hot stream of water.

It isn’t freaking out, per se, not at first. At first, he stares blankly at the wall, as the water runs down his body, washing away the fluid from his thighs, trying to gather enough of his wits to actually remember what happened.

_Oh._

_Oh, god._

_Oh, fucking god._

“What the fuck-” for a moment, it feels like he’s going to throw up, his hand pressed over his mouth to hold whatever it is back, as his other extends to the wall to hold himself up. He stands braced there, as everything that’s just happened flashes through his mind again, fast paced, and he almost falls over trying to process all of it.

“Holy fucking hell.”

_Jim is a woman._

His hand curls into a fist and slams into the marble wall. It doesn’t hurt, and he doesn’t actually feel it, aside from a mild stinging in the back of his mind.

It doesn’t matter.

_Jim is a woman._

“Jim is a-” he can still taste Jim’s cunt in the back of his mouth, his lips tingle with the reminder of what it felt like to have his tongue buried as far as it would go. “Jim is a- he’s a woman.”

He doesn’t actually fall over, and later, he’ll be incredibly proud of himself for that fact, for the fact that he’s able to stand his ground, as a tremor wracks his body.

“He isn’t a man. He’s a- she’s a woman. Jim is-” and maybe if he repeats it enough times, it will make sense in his head. Maybe if he says it out loud enough, everything will be explained.

It doesn’t work.

His eyes sting and his face feels clammy, his skin beginning to wrinkle, and again he moves unconsciously, reaching for the bottle of soap, so he can wash away the sweat.

The process happens entirely without thought, and he almost doesn’t remember it once it’s over, too preoccupied by the feeling of his mind.

No. It should be this horrifying.

It’s just-

_Jim is just a woman._

It’s not like it’s a big deal.

It’s not like Jim is dying.

It’s not like he’s dying.

But he didn’t fall in love with a woman.

He fell in love with Jim.

Jim the man.

Jim isn’t a man.

Jim is a woman.

_Fuck._

The water goes off eventually, because he has a limited supply of hot water, and he steps out to towel himself off, now that he’s clean. Now that he’s washed himself clean of every trace of Jim that was left on him.

He brushes his teeth.

Not because he doesn’t want to taste Jim there anymore, but because it feels wrong to not.

He forgot his clothes, because he went straight into the bathroom, and he doesn’t keep anything but towels in here; and he has to walk out of there with just the towel on his waist.

By then, his heart has calmed down, his mind is no longer in danger of overheating, and he’s able to breathe again. He’s in control again. Mostly.

The door to his bedroom is shut when he gets out into the hall, padding as quietly as he can, eyes stuck on the floor. He can’t recall whether or not it was closed earlier, and that seems only peripherally important, until he opens it, and has to stare.

Laying on the bed as if it’s his, is Jim. His legs are bent at the knees, feet planted firmly on the ground, and in his hands, is one of Sebastian’s handguns. The one that normally is kept under his mattress, he can tell from a single glance.

_“Sir.”_ The word tastes alien on his tongue for perhaps the first time, but there’s a part of him, a fierce, bitter part, that refuses to call Jim _‘ma’am’,_ or even consider him to be a her. Not properly at least.

After a second’s hesitation, he takes another step into the room, figuring that if Jim is going to kill him with his own gun, he might as well put the clothes in his arms down.

He dumps them in the hamper, moving without hesitation towards the closet. Towards clean clothes. Let the man shoot him in the back.

But he doesn’t, and Sebastian is partway through tugging a fresh pair of trousers past his ankles when Jim shifts on the bed.

_“Stop.”_

He probably should, and after a moment of thinking about it, he doesn’t care. He tugs them on the rest of the way anyway, dropping the wet towel on the floor by his feet as he does up the buckle.

Only then does he glance at Jim, his own hair wet now, falling over his eyes. “Was there something you wanted of me, _sir?”_ he asks stiffly, not sure really want Jim wants from him. Is he supposed to pretend that none of it happened? Is he supposed to ask about it?

“Oh, well,” the man rolls his head around on his neck, his eyes moving around in his head, and moves to stand, leaving the gun in the imprint his body had left. He’s still the same person Sebastian remembers from yesterday. Still shorter—not like a newfound sense of femininity would make him taller, but it’s the thought—still as intimidating when he sets his mind to it. “Want something of you?” he scoffs, the sarcasm virtually dripping from his words. “Why ever would I want something of _you?”_

“Dunno, sir. You tell me.” He refuses to do anything but stand his ground on this. This is his room, even if it’s in Jim’s flat, and if Jim has a problem, then he can fix it. If it’s with bullets, so be it.

Nonsensically, Jim doesn’t say anything, his hands travelling up to the collar of his shirt. The top buttons are still undone, like earlier, but he continues that pattern, flicking them quickly out of there holes before Sebastian can make the connection of what it means.

Within only a handful of moments, he’s thrusting his shoulders back, letting the shirt slip from them and down his arms. His torso is utterly naked underneath the white.

There’s hair underneath his arms—as is to be expected, somehow—and there isn’t any on his chest.

He doesn’t even have a chest. Not a proper one. Not a female one. It looks perfectly like he would expect any man’s to, at a single glance.

But he has to look back again, has to squint obviously, and look closer. There are tiny little scars across where his tits would be. Surgery scars.

His eyes move up to Jim’s face. “You had them removed.” It’s obvious, but it’s better than not saying anything.

“That I did.” He’s smirking at Sebastian, as he folds the shirt up, and drops it in on the bed, on top of the gun. “Not that I had much to remove. But, well. Even just what I had was incriminating enough.”

Questions taste sour as they die on his lips. He can’t bring himself to ask any of them. It wouldn’t feel right.

Jim takes a step closer, and then another one, until he’s just in front of Sebastian.

They’re equally matched, in a way. Both wearing only trousers, both completely with completely bare and slightly wet torsos—Sebastian's from the shower, and Jim's from sweat. Both with partially wet hair, that’s sticking to their faces. It’s surprisingly quaint.

“Touch them if you like,” Jim offers him, and it sounds like a ridiculous offer. It sounds like a trap. But there’s a part of Sebastian that isn’t very smart, and has never been good about avoiding even the most obvious of Jim’s traps, and that’s the part that orders his arms up into the air, reaching out to grasp at Jim’s incredibly masculine looking chest.

Incredibly masculine feeling as well, it turns out.

The skin is smooth under his fingers, like what little rest of Jim’s body he’s had the opportunity to touch tonight, and he rubs in circles, around the little nubs that are there. They’re a perfect replica of a male chest. It’s astounding.

He looks at Jim’s eyes. “He did a good job.”

“That he did.” The smirk is back, but it’s not for Sebastian now. The man’s neck arches slightly as he shifts on his feet, unperturbed so far about still having Sebastian’s hands on him, sliding along his chest, scars and all. “And I repaid him with equal kindness.”

“Did you?” he can’t help but be incredulous.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Hands come up to covers his, pressing his thumbs directly into the scars. “He surgically removed my breasts for me. So I surgically removed his head. Fair trade, don’t you think?”

On any other day, Sebastian would laugh.

But for some reason, it barely sounds funny at all. He nods. “I suppose.” It does make sense, in logic according to Jim.

Right now, it’s still easy to not think about what’s inside Jim’s pants. It’s still easy to pretend that they’re ‘bonding’ in some way or another, and that Jim is really Jim, and he’s still the same Jim he was yesterday.

“Did you have any other questions for me, tiger?” the endearment sounds the same as it did earlier, and the same as it did yesterday; and he does have questions. Questions that he’s fighting to remember.

The hands pull his away, dropping them at his sides, and Jim takes a step backwards.

He tries to find the femininity in Jim’s step, but he misses it.

“So are you, uh,” he’s momentarily at a loss for what words to use. “Are you one of those- uh, transgender sort? Born a female, really a man. De-decided to transition?”

That gets Jim’s eyes back on him, and they’re dancing with mirth.

“Oh, darling. Don’t think so cheaply of me. And don’t try to impress me with your knowledge of such things.” For a moment, he thinks Jim is going to put his shirt back on, but he doesn’t. He sits beside it on the bed, legs crossed the way he always crosses his legs. “I have never had any desire to be anything more or less than I have always been.”

It doesn’t really make any sense, even in logic according to Jim.

“So-” he glances away, at the door. “Uh, what is it, then?”

“Why, darling,” and before it even comes out, he knows Jim is going to be bullshitting him. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” The man flutters his eyelashes, attempting to look alluring—and unfortunately succeeding, or would be, if it weren’t for the weirdness wasn’t make him feel slightly sick in his gut—and Sebastian almost wants to hit him.

He tries to tell himself that resisting the urge is because it’s Jim, not because it’s a woman. Even if the woman isn’t really a real one.

“Okay.” He shrugs it off, _“fine._ You don’t have to tell me.” He looks again at the door, staring longer at it, wanting to escape. He no longer wants to leave so he can find someone to shag. He just needs to be rid of Jim for a while. Maybe for good.

“Come here a moment, and maybe I will.”

It doesn’t sound likely.

He tries to resist.

He really does.

But he walks over anyway, after only a few seconds of trying to not. He gets to stand above Jim, gets to make Jim arch his neck backwards in order to stare directly into Sebastian’s eyes.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Get on your knees.”

He scoffs. “I’m not sucking you off again.” But he would. If Jim asked. Jim probably knows it, too.

_“Knees.”_

He swallows a heavy lump, and bends, from one knee to the next, until he’s back on the floor like he was earlier. He’s back to looking up at Jim, and feeling like the back of his throat is clogged, keeping him from being clear or making sense of anything.

“I’m not sucking you off again.” Weaker, this time.

“I don’t want you to, dear.” A hand comes up, and he flinches, assuming it’s going to hit him. It curls around his face, brushing back the wet hair, and Jim coos at him. “You always assume I wish harm on you, pet. It’s unbelievably precious.”

He sucks in a breath, holds it for a few seconds, and then releases it.

“Considering your track record, boss, it’s a good assumption to make.”

Jim chuckles softly at that.

“Ask me anything you want,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping back underneath Sebastian’s chin. As if they belong there.

“...when did it start?” it’s the only thing that comes to mind to ask. The only variation of the question that doesn’t have an infinite number of obvious loopholes. Though if it does have ways out, Jim will find them, he knows that.

“Oh, now,” the hand pulls away, leaving him bereft. “That is actually a good question.” Another laugh. “I would never have thought you smart enough, my dear. But you continue to pleasantly surprise me.”

It doesn’t set him seething, oddly enough. Jim has always thought him stupid. Maybe he’ll reward Sebastian’s stupidity with a proper answer.

“It started on the day of my birth.”

His ears perk up.

“My father hated females with a passion. He only kept my mother around because he needed her, and she was the only woman that would put up with him.” His mind flickers, trying to put the pieces together. “He always wanted a son. He _only_ wanted a son.”

For a moment, he thinks he might understand.

“And, as all great romance novels begin, my mother wasn’t satisfied with having the wrong child. She tricked him. Spent months fooling him into believing that I was a young, healthy little boy. Even before I was born. But the real trick was after.” There’s a chuckle again, stiffer by a tiny amount.

“Her greatest advantage was that he hated small children nearly as much as he hated women. There wasn’t any way he was ever going to go near me to help her take care of me. So it was easy to hide until I was past the point of nappies.”

Yeah, he thinks he might understand. It makes his head thud uncomfortably.

“Even after that, it was all a matter of keeping me in the dark about there being anything to know. As long as I never said anything to make him suspicious, the idea would never cross his mind. And it didn’t. I was schooled at home, hidden from the state, and it meant she was in the perfect position to limit my reach of knowledge.”

Sebastian swallows.

“I didn’t know until I was twelve. For certain, that is. I had wondered for several years. I knew something was the matter. But it wasn’t until I was twelve that I actually knew the full truth. I was a girl.”

He hadn’t even noticed the way Jim’s hand had come up on his hair, petting him gently, like he’s some sort of lap dog.

“I had just assumed I was a boy. That was, after all, the way they had raised me. The way I had always thought things were supposed to be. I never wore dresses, I had to keep my voice as deep as I could or my father would accuse me of being a sissy. And most importantly, I never thought had to tools to proper question the existence of my genitalia.

“As far as I, or anyone else, was concerned, I was a boy.” The fingers tighten incrementally around a strand of hair. “And I continued to be a boy from that point on, even after my mother offered to take me away from him.”

There’s a part of him that feels he understands everything that is Jim so much better now.

“He died when I was fourteen.”

His eyes dart up to stare at Jim, searching his eyes for the answer to a question he’s not sure he wants to speak. It’s there, in the man’s smirk.

“I continued to live as a boy, and never looked back.”

“Why?” unthinking, he lifts a hand of his own, letting it creep up Jim’s thigh, just sitting there. He’s not stopped, so that says something. Even if it’s in a language he doesn’t understand. “Why did you, even after you stopped needing to?”

“Oh, darling,” he’s scoffing at Sebastian again, and there’s a part of him that feels like story time is over. “I am a man. Don’t for a moment think otherwise. I just happen to have a cunt instead of a cock.”

“But you said it yourself,” he protests, hand sliding closer into the curve. “You didn’t make the choice for yourself. She made it for you. _He_ made it for you.”

“So?” he’d almost forgotten that Jim had taken off his shirt, and he’s reminded of it when it heaves in the man’s laughter. “Darling, no one forced me into anything. I am exactly as I was supposed to be, if you believe in silly things like fate. The only difficulty is choosing my lovers, and that is easily managed when you go about it right.”

He flushes, and retracts his hand. The touch felt too intimate. Too personal.

“I see.” A pause. “Can I get up now, boss?”

“That depends.”

“On?” he drops his gaze the floor for a moment, and then back up again, looking anywhere but into Jim’s eyes.

“Are you planning to run the moment I let you out of my sight?”

“...” he could say no, but Jim would know he’s lying. He could say yes, and Jim would punish him for the truth in his answer. He has no way of winning this one. “Not if you don’t want me to,” he concedes, regretfully. California is supposed to be nice this time of year. He could probably find reasonably steady work out there.

“I have no interest in letting you slip from my grasp, Moran.” He flinches again. Does he even want to leave?

“Then you won’t, si- _boss.”_

Fingers flick warningly at his chin. “Do not ever address me as anything other than a man, Moran.” It’s a relief, it really is, and he’d freely admit to that.

“May I get up now, sir?”

“If you wish,” and as Jim hums thoughtfully, Sebastian bends his knees again, shifting until he’s back to standing awkwardly at the foot of his bed. It is his room after all. He has nowhere to go to escape Jim, not with Jim actually here, seeming to have no intention of leaving.

He looks back down at Jim’s chest. At the slivers of scars, and he tilts his head wonderingly, examining more thoroughly now. He can wonder, idly, if he actually finds it attractive. At a glance, Jim’s chest is everything he assumed it would be, and in some cases imagined. The only thing that makes it the slightest bit different is the slight discolouration, and the lack of chest hair.

That in itself could be easily explained by shaving or waxing, or just not being naturally prone to growing chest hair.

“See something you like?” he looks back into Jim’s eyes, at the flirtatious smirk and tone, and he sighs.

“Did you have to humiliate me like that earlier, boss?” he asks. “You could’ve proved your point an easier way.”

“Humiliate you?” Jim’s eyes widen in mock surprise, the corners of his lips pulling apart, faking shock. “Aww, darling, you felt I was intent only on humiliating you?”

“It’s what it was, wasn’t it?” he shifts on his feet, moving his weight from one hip to the other. “You wanted to shame me for my-” he swallows, redirecting the path of what he was going to say. “You wished to shame me for wanting you.”

“And where in it, pray tell, did you feel a sole intent to humiliate?”

He scowls. “I’m not that empty headed, Jim. I know you well enough to know that everything is a way of getting to me.”

“Well-” Jim starts, before breaking into a chuckle. “I prefer to see it as character building, not humiliation or punishment.”

Everything feels oddly light all of a sudden, and it’s unsettling. It just doesn’t feel right. It makes him frown slightly.

“It still wasn’t-” he starts to say, but can’t bring himself to finish. The idea of calling Jim on his mistreatment feels a bit too much like whining over being shoved around by a playground bully. The only thing it would accomplish would be to incur more of the man’s wrath.

“Never mind.” He flashes a forced smile in Jim’s direction, and it’s one of his better ones. “Forget I said anything, boss.” He shifts again. “May I be excused for the night now, sir?”

_Come on, Jim. Say yes. Let me off. Let me spend the night somewhere else. You know you want to._

“No.”

He exhales loudly, frustrated, before nodding quickly, lifting a thumb to itch at the side of his nose. “All right, fine. If you’re gonna be like that, boss. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

He doesn’t even wait to see if Jim is going to demand he stay, grabbing a shirt from off the dresser as he flees the room. It’s white t-shirt with a deep neckline, but it smells freshly washed, so he tugs it on over his head, and shuts the door behind him.

It’s not like he has any real secrets in his room that he needs to keep from Jim.

In the kitchen is food and beer, and he goes for the beer first, snagging a cold one from the top shelf. It had been an issue when he’d first moved in, talking Jim into letting him keep some of his alcohol in the fridge, and after a few weeks, the man had finally given way. For which he’s quite thankful now.

He pops it open and downs more than half the bottle in the first swig of it. It’s cold and bitter going down his throat, but it feels good, and he doesn’t have the energy to dig around in Jim’s stash of actually good alcohol. At least not anytime tonight.

Next comes the containers of leftover Thai food that are hidden behind one of the jugs of juice, and he’s half tempted to just eat it cold, but he pops in to warm up, resolutely refusing to glance in the direction of the hall to see if Jim has emerged yet.

While the food heats, he places his hands on the countertop, leaning forward onto it to brace himself as he breathes. The shock has apparently not finished hitting him yet.

_Fuck._

It still doesn’t make sense, even though he’s seen Jim’s chest, touched it, had his mouth on Jim’s cunt— _jesus fucking christ_ —and he knows to his very core that it is what it is. But there’s still parts of him that are refusing to believe it; because no, it couldn’t possibly be true.

Even knowing the story— _and goddamn that story—_ it rings perfectly true, as true as anything else he’s ever believed that’s come from Jim’s mouth, but it rides along a wave in his gut, screaming, _“I’m a dirty fucking liar, don’t believe me”._

He tries to imagine Jim with breasts. Coming up behind Jim, closing his hands around soft lumps of flesh, squeezing them in his hands. He can almost feel it, can almost hear the soft moans he’d draw from Jim’s lips as he caressed them. He can imagine backing Jim against a wall, and hiking up his skirt, pushing his knickers out of the way, and slipping into his soft, wet folds.

_Fuck._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

He slams a fist into the counter, and then into his mouth, biting down hard on his skin.

_“Stop it,”_ he orders himself. _“Jesus fucking christ. Just fucking stop it already.”_

He’s hard again, just thinking about it for a couple of moments.

The oven beeps, and just as he’s about to turn, there’s a body pressed up against his back.

It’s Jim. Of course it’s Jim.

Hands are on his hips. Tiny little hands that barely cover any space around his waist, and he must have lost his mind.

“Get off me,” he murmurs quietly, not entirely convinced that this is actually happening. The other half of him is determined that Jim not find out about the semi he’s nursing already. “This isn’t a joke, Jim.”

“Of course it isn’t.” A nose is pressed to his shoulder, and he’s tugged backwards to fit awkwardly against much smaller hips. “Do I sound like I’m laughing, tiger?”

“No, now-” he swallows hard, reaching down to grab at Jim’s hands to pull them off him, and then he dodges out of the man’s way, not so much as looking in his direction.

It feels silly to seek refuge partially behind the refrigerator, but he’s not done in here yet, and he doesn’t trust Jim not to try and latch onto him again. So it only makes sense that he’d position himself with a strategic exit, should he need it. Through the doorway just to his right, he could get to the door in a matter of seconds, and then down to one of the cars.

His eyes dart over to the counter that houses the collection of keys Jim has for his many array of vehicles, in an attempt at subtlety, but then they flicker over to Jim quickly and he can see the glimmer of a smirk beginning to form.

“Not so fast, darling,” the man purrs, casually walking more fully into Sebastian’s line of vision, blocking the tray entirely, covering it partially with a hand behind his back. “You don’t get to leave. Not yet, at least.”

There’s a part of Sebastian’s psyche that urges him to pounce and incapacitate Jim. He’s always been stronger than the man, bigger than him, and the only thing that has ever truly stopped him from hurting the little guy has been his never ending loyalty to him. But it’s not right, none of it is, and the instinct that he’s been quelling since he first realised how easily he had settled into only having one employer is back, telling him to run, to eliminate the threat, and get the fuck outta here before it becomes a thing.

Not that Jim being female is a thing. Or isn’t, for that matter.

He could do it. He could knock the man out, and steal one of his cars. He probably wouldn’t make it very far, and Jim knows that. So if he really wanted to get away, he’d have to kill Jim. The idea of it thuds through the beats of his heart, and he could swear, Jim’s eyes are tracking its progress through him.

He could do it. He knows he could. It wouldn’t take much. A few well timed hits. Smashing his head a little bit too hard against a hard surface. Holding him down and bashing the life out of him.

His fingers twitch.

_“Do it, tiger.”_ His eyes dart back up to Jim’s face, and he growls at the look there. “I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. You only have two options.” The man sneers right back at him, settling comfortably with one leg lodged behind the other. He looks relaxed. “You can either hear me out, or you can kill me. There is no door number three.”

Sebastian swallows, and Jim’s head tilts up slightly, so that it feels as if he’s looking down his nose in a haughty manner. “Choose wisely. There’s no going back from the second one, and you know it.”

He’s trying to remember if he keeps a knife in these trousers, but the the weight doesn’t feel like it, and his pulse is thrumming, not quite making his vision go a little bit spotty. “Don’t tempt me, Jimmy,” he threatens in a low tone, though it doesn’t feel very threatening from off his lips.

“Oh, darling,” suddenly Jim is taking a step forward, his hands outstretched in front of him in a patronising, pacifying manner, as he clicks his teeth. “I’m not tempting you to do anything. You don’t want to kill me and you know it.”

Another step forward, and Sebastian counters it going backwards. He feels a bit like a wild animal being cornered and preyed on, and that’s a bit insane, but it’s Jim after all. His fist clenches. _“Don’t.”_

“I’m not, I’m not,” Jim soothes him, but he still takes another careful step, going slightly to the side now, and now Sebastian can only back further against the wall and away from his only route of escape. “I’m not going to hurt you. And you’re not going to hurt me. Isn’t that right, my darling?”

Jim’s close enough now that he can smell him. There’s a whisp of almost something perfume like coming from him, and it’s alluring in the way that only Jim ever manages to be. He’s totally against the wall now, fully aware of how silly it must seem, and how silly it actually feels, and he tries to slide covertly along the wall to get closer to the exit, but Jim cuts him off by moving quickly to block him.

On one hand, he can get to the keys now. On the other, the only other archway leads to the hall and the bedrooms. If he were to get to them, it would prove futile, because Jim would cut him off before he got within a couple of meters of the front door.

He curse under his breath, and Jim smiles beguilingly at him. “Come on, darling. Make up your mind.”

Letting his eyes drift fully to Jim, he straightens his back, coming out of his defensive, and slightly stupid, stance from before. He’s still on his guard, though, and Jim knows it, as he tilts his chin up and speaks.

“If I ‘hear you out’ as you so wonderfully put it-” the idea of all the different things that Jim might potentially want from him flash through his mind. It could be literally anything from a fucking relationship of some perverted sort, to planning to kill him at the earliest opportunity in order to guarantee that his secret will never get out, and anything in between. “Would I get to leave after, if I wanted to?”

“You know our contract, pet,” Jim demures, and he doesn’t quite spit, but it’s tempting. “You have always known that the only way you would leave my service with your life would be if you chose to take mine first.”

They’d never discussed it before in such explicit detail, but there’s no denying that it’s been heavily implied, and obvious from damn near the start.

“So that’s it, then?” the moment he stops looking like he’s ready to bolt, Jim relaxes, and it’s an interesting sight. The man is still shirtless, still looking like a man, more or less, and that leaves Sebastian with the mild advantage. That Jim hadn’t even bothered to find his shirt to cover up before coming to find him.

“It’s whatever it is that you want from me. The end? No takebacks? No negotiations?”

“Of course it’s not that.” Jim’s teeth glint in the light, perfectly white and shiny. “But you know as well as I do that my style of negotiations never end well for my opposing party.”

“So?” _Fuck you, Jim,_ is what he doesn’t say.

“Do you think you’re suddenly special?” His lips don’t twist up again, but the sneer flickers through Jim’s eyes, and it’s almost disgusting how potently he can feel it in the air. “That my decision to tell you makes you-”

“Hey, hey, hold up there,” he interrupts, lifting a hand. “You didn’t fucking tell me anything, Jim!” He has to take a second, to breathe in, calming himself before he gets upset again. “You fucking shoved me face between your legs, and told me to _suck!”_

If he sounds slightly hysterical, it’s not his fault at all. “I find out with my bloody fucking eyes shut that you have a cunt instead of a cock!”

Something flickers to match the sneer, and then Jim’s lips form an ‘O’ shape of mild understanding, mixed with interest and amusement. “Is that what had you down, pretty boy?” he purrs, and his feet bring him another step closer, and then another, until he’s laying a hand daintily on Sebastian’s shoulder.

He flinches, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t allow himself to look anywhere but at Jim’s face, and that gives Jim all the room in the world to continue.

“You wish that I’d taken you out to some really nice place for dinner instead,” the man bats his eyelashes, and it takes a great deal of effort not to hiss back at it. “And broken it to you all polite like? Would that have been better, darling?” the hand travels, pressing into his shoulder, and moving so that just the thumb is hitting bare skin.

It makes Sebastian shiver just barely.

Jim leans forward, until their faces are incredibly close, until he can feel the man breathing against his cheek, and he closes his eyes, turning his face away from it.

“My darling employee,” he begins, and Sebastian grits his teeth, because it’s stupid. “I felt that after so many years of you in my service, it was time to come clean to you about a very, very important fact.” His tone is so incredibly bloody mocking, as if he’s actually concerned about this. “I-” his lips touch Sebastian’s ear, the pressure lighter than a feather brushing against him, and his fingers dig into flesh. “-have lied and allowed you to believe that I am a man like you, and that I have a cock like you.”

The _fuck you, Jim,_ dies just short of his lips, when a finger brushes against them, shushing him wordlessly.

“Oh, my darling Moran. Can you ever forgive me for not trusting you? Can you ever understand my reasons and accept me for who I am, and then take me to bed with you? You big, _strong_ man.”

The way Jim giggles is light and airy, almost flirty even, and he hates it. “Fuck you, Jim,” he says finally through the finger, and that just makes the amused noise louder.

“Oh, darling,” Jim moans, and the pressure on his shoulder is actually almost starting to hurt a little bit. “Please, won’t you fuck me. My cunt is absolutely, positively dripping for you.”

Before Jim can finish, he growls at the man, pushing him away with a hand pressed to each of his shoulders. This doesn’t make him any less willing to shove Jim around when he needs to, because this is Jim, not some weak little flower that will suddenly start to break every time Sebastian lays a finger on it in the wrong way.

“You suck at dirty talk, bastard,” he spits out, feeling a fair bit offended by the idea that he might have been wined and dined into this conversation, instead of the way it came about in real life. Not that he didn’t enjoy it, but-

“You’re nothing but a stupid slut, is what you are,” he continues, snarling. “What, did you think I’d still want you as a woman? I wanted you as a man, Jim. I wanted your cock. _I didn’t want a fucking cunt.”_

“Aw,” undeterred, Jim regains the distance he lost when shoved, and the hand comes back, pressing down a mite bit too hard on Sebastian’s neck. “I know you’re not gay, pretty boy. Even if you do walk like a little ponce, and talk like one. You ate me out with enough skill to be obvious that you’ve made a practice out of it, and that’s not even counting your conquests in the _pre-me_ days.”

At his sides, Sebastian’s hands clench up into angry fists again, daring himself not to punch Jim. “S’not the same thing,” he shoots back. “I didn’t fucking want you as a girl.” It sounds weaker this time, and he knows there’s no way in the nine hells that Jim will actually believe that. He’s not dumb enough for it.

“I know, I know,” Jim coos, almost sounding apologetic for a moment. “You wanted your big, insane boss to have a lovely cock that you could get down on your knees and have shoved down your throat. You wanted me to fuck you with it until you cried and had no choice but to submit everything to me.”

Sebastian opens his mouth to argue, but the other hand comes up to cover his lips. There’s a dangerous fire going in Jim’s eyes, and his heart thuds quicker. “You wanted my cock to be buried so far into your mouth and throat that it positively ached to close it after, so used to the feeling of being full. Isn’t that right?”

He snarls again, looking away, and the hand stays in place, only really deterring Sebastian from talking, not actively making it impossible. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jim licking his lips, his tongue sliding out as if he’s putting on a show, and the fingers that were pressing a bruise slowly into his neck come down to wrap around his wrist. “I hate to break it to you, darling,” he purrs, his voice dropping in volume until it’s obvious that he’s trying to be seductive about it, as he moves Sebastian’s hand until it’s pressing between his legs, along the line where his cock would be if he had one.

“But I’ve got a lovely cunt that’s no more yours than my cock would have been.” That Jim is wet becomes obviously immediately, even through the layers of cloth blocking Sebastian’s fingers from really feeling him. He’s soaked at least his knickers clean through, and that’s clear to the touch on his trousers, as they squish about in there, and Sebastian has to suck in a careful breath.

“Don’t you like it?” Jim breathes into his ears, all soft as can be, dragging his hand higher up until this fingers touch the seam of his trousers, and the one over his mouth leaves to join. He must be unbuttoning himself, because a second later, his hand is pressed down into the opening, down past Jim’s knickers, and against pubic hair.

It takes a great deal of control not to groan, properly being able to feel Jim’s cunt this time, with more than his mouth, and he can’t really control the part of him that needs this—most likely related to the part of him that’s still hard, and growing harder still from this—and that makes it nearly impossible to not let his fingers travel farther down. Even after Jim’s hand disappears, and both slide their way onto their hips, with Jim’s breath in his ear, he has to continue, as if he’ll die if he won’t—and that’s not even the most ridiculous thought he’s had tonight.

The angle is horrible, but he can smell the fluid leaking from Jim now, thick and potent in his nose, tasting it again in his throat, as his forefinger slides through it, instinctively swirling over the folds.

The moan Jim breathes into his ear is unearthly intoxicating, and so incredibly real sounding, that it doesn’t even put him off from it. He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is an exhale of air, having to breathe as he crooks the finger, and lets it bury itself in Jim.

It reminds him terrifyingly of the first time he ever fingered a girl. The angle was horrible then, too, and she’d never been touched down there before, which made every response completely natural, something she was utterly unable to control. She’d quivered in his arms, letting out little breathy gasps as he hit the right spots, hands clenched on his arm.

Jim’s like that, almost, sounding like he hasn’t had this done to him in far too long, or doesn’t get this nearly as often as he likes, hissing in pleasure, and clenching wetly down around the finger, his hands tightening around Sebastian’s waist. He’s most certainly going to have an assortment of colourful bruises tomorrow, and that’s the only thought that makes it through his filter that isn’t polluted by having Jim like this.

The skin on his neck feel sensitive as Jim buries his face against it, his nose diving into the crook as his mouth opens and he gasps again—obviously Sebastian’s found that little nub—as he humps his hips forward to push the finger in deeper. It’s stupid and he should stop, because his wrist is cramping, and he’ll be sure to regret this later, but he pushes forward anyway, twisting them until it’s Jim’s back that’s against the wall.

He doesn’t wait to let Jim respond to it, wiggling roughly to get another finger inside his cunt, scraping along the walls as he does, before going straight back to that sensitive spot, and he can feel as much as hear the cry that Jim bites back. Teeth sink into his neck, and he wonders if Jim knows he’s doing it, but that hardly seems relevant. His other hand ends up at Jim’s waist, clenching along the curve that he’s only just now learnt is there, that is so distinctly feminine and beautiful feeling that he curses himself for not noticing it sooner, underneath all the layers of Jim’s suits.

“Sebastian,” Jim groans into his ear once his teeth have released, and before the man can say anything more on top of his name, Sebastian spreads his fingers to tug his cunt open wider, curling them upwards as he does. Whatever was supposed to come next gets lost, deliberately this time, as he captures Jim’s mouth in a kiss he genuinely feels like he has to steal.

Under his mouth, Jim’s is wet and pliable, opening immediately for him, so he can slide his tongue in and trace along the insides of his cheeks, down past his teeth, and then twining around his tongue. He doesn’t even fight Sebastian on it, doesn’t turn it into a battle at first, seeming to enjoy being explored, and when he does pick up, it’s just chasing after him.

Teeth lock around his tongue almost gently, just as a leg hooks around the back of his thigh, and he’s sucked in from both the bottom and the top, tugged forward until he’s thrusting both his fingers into Jim, and his tongue into the man’s mouth.

It feels good, more than it did that first time when he was fifteen, and when he starts to pull his fingers back, the wetness seems to cling to them, unwilling to let them go, and Jim’s legs and cunt clenches, begging wordlessly for him to come back.

He growls something he doesn’t recognise as actual English into Jim’s mouth, and swipes his thumb—as much of it as he can get down there from the way they’re positioned—along the hair covered ridge, pressing down threateningly. Jim gasps quietly into his mouth as he drags his fingers around in circles, pressing down in the area he remembers the nub to have been, and starts to twitch slightly in his hold.

As he comes around Sebastian’s two fingers, Jim’s throat rumbles with his groan, teeth digging into Sebastian’s lip, spasming without control, and he gives into the urge to finger fuck him through it.

**Author's Note:**

> idc that this will probably turn out to be horrible. I'm going to finish writing it anyway.
> 
> oh and I don't have a beta; all mistakes are mine because I'm lazy and almost never reread my own things.


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